


Alma Mater

by tabaqui



Series: Crash [4]
Category: Angel: the Series RPF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabaqui/pseuds/tabaqui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look back, in the 'verse, when Christian and Jason were just out of school, and Jason was on the cusp of leaving - and leaving everything and everyone behind.  For Snow, as always.</p><p>Unbeta'd, at the moment.  Please excuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alma Mater

_Oh, goodbye, everybody..._  
_How do you like that?_  
_They finally let me out of school_  
_Goodbye...Ah, I wanna get out of here...._  
_Maybe I'll see - Maybe I'll see you around some time, huh?_  
_May - I ho - I hope - you don't f-forget me or nothin'...._  
_Goodbye…._

Alice Cooper - _Alma Mater_

 

The summer Christian graduated, Jason was still around, though his head was already gone. Already out on the road, somewhere, bike between his thighs, nothing ahead of him but empty, nothing behind him but dust. He'd stopped going to school along about December, and spent those dry, cold days at the junkyard, or the garage.

Scrounging parts, sanding and greasing and beating out dents - stealing what he couldn't buy. Making the old Ducati Bronco he'd bought for fifty bucks run, against all odds. It had a Honda carburetor and a Harley magneto and old Delwin down at the garage said it was lucky the damn thing didn't kill him. It did a hard back kick five times out of six when he started it, and it tended to slip out of gear at the worst possible fucking times.

But it ran, and it would get him _out_ , and that's all he fucking cared about. And mid-June, he was ready to go, mostly. Had a stash of money from working odd jobs, had some plans, had some contacts. Mostly some guys he'd met on the circuit, working as a wrangler and general hand for various rodeos. There was always some dusty little show happening, Kansas or Missouri or Oklahoma. Half-wild broncs and scarred up bulls, rickety trailers and red-eyed 'bullfighters' in cracked makeup and dingy clothes.

Christian was on the circuit, too, a little, working for the Rockin' Z ranch, Ted Zimmer had put him up on a few horses and taught him some moves, and Christian was making a little money and a little name for himself, barrel-racing and calf-roping. Leave it to Christian, Jason thought, to do something like that. He wasn't busting his guts and his back on broncs or bulls - wasn't getting his ribs stove in distracting some damn crazy Brahman. No, Christian was sitting a horse, thighs clamped tight and head bent low, fingers loose on the reins. His whole body leaning, his lips moving in silent encouragement as the little buckskin he was on twirled around the barrel, pretty as a picture. Turn on a nickle and give you some change, and yeah, that was Christian; tough as nails, steady as a house, and just fucking elegant. 

Jason could watch him all night.

 

And so there he was, and there Christian was; hot June night in Oklahoma, fireflies drifting lazily over the scorched grass of the rutted field half-full of cars and trucks. Dust floating like mist in the air, the lazy buzz of cicadas coming from the treeline due south. Bright white lights strung on wires, limp red-white-and-blue bunting hanging from the poles. Smell of grease and sugar and smoke, smell of horse shit and leather, dusty hay and exhaustion. 

Jason leaned on the Rockin' Z stock trailer, one booted foot propped up on the fender, leaning back against the still-warm aluminum rails. Watching as Christian led his buckskin down the aisle of trucks and trailers. He was grinning, patting the horse's sweating neck, talking in her ear and basically acting like a love-struck fool. The horse acted the same right back, nodding and bumping into Christian's ribs with her black muzzle, her perfect little ears pointing right at him, soaking up every bit of his attention. She was a pretty piece, and she did so well for Christian; was practically _his_ horse, though he would never own her.

Jason had to grin, too, watching them, and as they got closer, Christian looked up and spotted him. His face did something...complicated. A grin of pure happiness that faded for a moment to something a little bewildered, a little lost. And then came right back, only this time with a little twist of a smirk, his blue, blue eyes heating up and the way his gaze went from Jason's dirty motorcycle boots to the rubbed-thin, pale-blue denim over his thighs, to the tight, ragged A-line tee…. Yeah, that made Jason snort a little, shaking his hair back out of his eyes and feeling his belly do a hot little curl; little curl of that same heat twisting out from his balls and his cock.

"Hey, superstar," Jason said, and Christian laughed. Soft and happy and fucking beautiful, dirt flecked on his cheeks and down his thighs, blue ribbon fluttering from the mare's headstall.

"It's all 'cause of my girl, here," Christian said, coming to a stop, and the mare pushed her muzzle into his side, whickering down low in her chest while Christian rubbed between her ears with the sweat-stained, rough leather gloves.

"You did good," Jason said, and Christian's cheeks were pink. He grinned harder, and held out the reins. 

"Hold on so I can get her settled for the night, okay?"

"Sure," Jason said. He coiled the worn leather leads in his fingers, watching as Christian stripped off saddle and blanket with quick, efficient fingers, draping them over the saw-horse set out for that purpose. He put a soft rope halter on the mare and slipped the bridle out from under it, passing Jason the thick, faded lead. Not like the mare was going anywhere - she knew where her food was, and the day had worn her out. She was content to stand, hip-cocked, head low, while Christian brushed her down and checked her feet, worried a few knots out of her mane and smoothed her tail.

He filled her water bucket, inside the trailer, and fluffed the hay hanging in the net. Dumped a measure of feed into the trough and clipped it in place, and then he led her up into shadow and the crisp crackle of hay. After a moment, he came back out, shutting and locking the gate, checking one last time through the rails. The mare was already eating, content, and Christian gave the trailer itself a little pat.

"So, you workin' tonight?"

"I was. Guy who runs the food trailer, his daughter was sick, he needed some help. But he's down to nothin' but chips and soda, so he paid me and let me leave," Jason said, fingers unconsciously going to the forty dollars down deep in his pocket. "You?"

"Nah. Mr. Zimmer said take the night off, he and the Missus are in a hotel over near the highway. Guess I'm campin' out here for the night." Christian didn't look like he minded. Jason knew he didn't, really. He had a little camp stove, and he'd make up some chicken or something cooked in a foil pack - meat and veggies, can of beans. Drink a few beers and bed down in the back of the truck cab, old blankets and pillows making a little nest, snug and secure. Jason had 'camped out' with him that way a time or time, sharing food and beer and space. Sharing air and sweat and skin.

"Got that part for my bike," Jason said, as Christian stripped off the gloves he still had on, and took off his hat, running his hand back through sweat-limp hair. "Got it all done. Running pretty much perfect," Jason said. Christian tossed the gloves into the bed of the truck and jerked his chin toward the fair grounds. Wanting a drink, wanting food, maybe, and Jason nodded.

They walked away down the aisle, dust and gravel and flattened grass, scuffing in their boots. Leaving the mare, but she was safe - nobody was gonna fuck with the Rockin' Z trailer, or anything else. 

"Gonna have to go on a road trip," Christian said, little grin, little hip-check into Jason, and Jason grinned back. Heart jumping in his chest and his belly aching, just a little. Because that what he had planned, road trip. Road trip that might never end, just out of there and gone. He wasn't sure Christian got that - understood that. Wasn't sure at all.

"Yeah, go up to the Rockies or something...see the ocean," Jason said. They got to the concourse and strolled along, the crowd getting thin and the night getting old, people streaming away in the dark, headlights cutting through the dust like a knife's edge, the PA playing some old country tune, Conway Twitty or maybe Glen Campbell. They stopped and got the scrapings from a big pot of chili, and a couple of beers from the woman who handed them over with a wink, knowing they were underage. 

Not like they hadn't been drinking beer, and harder, since they were both not-quite teens, but fuck...it was makin' her day, Jason thought, to break the law a little; make two pretty bucks smile at her. So he winked back, smiling his best, big smile, giving her the flirty eyes while Christian 'aw,shucks, ma'm'ed her and smiled all big and bright.

They ate on their feet, wandering past the closing-down booths hung with tack, or fancy shirts with bone snaps and colored piping; walked past the stock pens, where bulls and calves and broncs idled and shifted, eating, sighing into rest.

Tossed their empties and snagged a couple more from a big, tin tub set out for the wranglers, Jason giving them a little salute, most of them recognizing him. Recognizing Christian as a rider, a winner, and a couple giving him a handshake, slap on the back.

"Damn, gonna get a big head on you," Jason said, as they walked away from light and noise into the shadows of an old pole barn that had been turned into seating. It was empty, now, the space at the back locked up, the picnic tables and benches wiped down and abandoned, flaking red paint and scuffed concrete. Jason climbed up onto a table, his feet on the bench and laid back, twisting a little so his head was supported, the age-smoothed wood cool under his shoulders. Christian did the same, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder, letting out a huge, long sigh as they lay there.

"Nah. Guess I won't. It's big enough already, don't you think?" Christian said, and his hand cupped his crotch for a moment, elbow digging into Jason's side. Jason elbowed him back, snorting.

"Fucker. Who said?"

"You said. Last weekend, if I remember right…. _"Fuck, Christian, you're so fuckin' big, gonna split me half!"_ Christian said, all breathy falsetto, and Jason rolled half over, putting his own hand over Christian's, trying to get his other one on Christian's mouth.

"Shut up, you fucker, you ain't that big, fucking hell -" Jason was trying to squeeze Christian's cock and cover his mouth at the same time, and Christian looped a calf around Jason's and tried to grab his wrist, pelvis arching up on instinct into Jason's hand. 

"You know I am, you know I got the biggest dick -"

" _Are_ the biggest dick. Fuckin' asshole -"

They wrestled, huffing and snorting laughter, groping and pinching and rabbit-punching until one of the beers toppled, spattering them with beer and shattering on the concrete below.

"Oh, fuck -" Christian said, half up on an elbow, and Jason lunged over him and grabbed the other, upright bottle.

"That was yours, too bad, so sad," he said, tipping the beer up. Getting a good two, three swallows before Christian jerked it away and downed the rest, smacking his lips. "Bastard," Jason said, flopping back, and Christian laughed. Jason heard the bottle clink down on the bench and then Christian was leaning over Jason, his thigh hot and heavy over Jason's, his callused hands finding Jason's wrists and pinning them down.

"You're such a fuckin' brat," Christian said, low, and Jason grinned up at him. Arched against the press of Christian's body and curled his fingers into his palms, not really fighting Christian's hold.

"You don't care," Jason said, and Christian ducked his head down, pushing his face into Jason's neck. He was solid and summer-warm, smelling of horse and sweat and hay, of beer and leather and _Christian_ , and Jason let his eyes go shut, biting his lip to keep back the whimper that threatened to spill out.

"You smell good," Christian murmured, and Jason shivered at the puff of his breath over Jason's neck - the buzz of his lips.

"Smell like hot dogs and fryer grease," Jason muttered, and Christian snuffled in closer, making noise, now - snorting and sniffing and smacking. "Fuck, you sound like that fuckin' bulldog the twins got last year, Jesus!"

"You just smeeeeell good, wanna eat you aaaaall up," Christian said, muffled in Jason's neck, and he started to nip and lick and kiss at Jason's neck, his shoulder - graze of teeth and wet little busses, being silly and clumsy and just _happy_ , and Jason squirmed under him, not really trying to get away.

"Fuckin' pervert, Jesus, oh my fuckin' God, are you licking me? You're fuckin' licking me- "

"Thought you liked it when I licked you," Christian said, his head coming up with a snap, and Jason grinned at him.

"Yeah, when you lick my _dick_ , you fucker."

"Lick _my_ dick, asshole."

"Lick my _asshole_ , dick," Jason said, and they both snorted laughter, Christian going limp on top of Jason, his belly against Jason's side, snorting into his neck while Jason got a wrist free and poked him in the ribs. Poking turned to rubbing, turned to Jason running a hand up into Christian's hair and tugging lightly. Christian's mouth was resting, hot and damp, on Jason's collarbone, and Jason rubbed his fingers through Christian's tangled, dusty hair, smoothing it over and over. "You need a curry comb in this mess," he said, and he could feel Christian smile against his skin.

He could feel Christian's cock, hot and thickening, against his hip, and his own was filling between his thighs, tucked back in his jeans and throbbing gently. Jason turned his head and pressed his lips to Christian's forehead - tugged at his hair and got him to lift his head up and then they were kissing for real.

Mouths open and tongues pushing, rubbing. Sucking on Christian's lip, biting it, while Christian's tongue lapped over his teeth and his hand slid up under the threadbare hem of Jason's tee, scrunching it up under his armpits. Christian's hand was rough and callused from ropes and shovels and tack, from wood and metal and rock, and Jason shuddered under the scrape of it, nipples tingling.

His own hands were dry and cracked, nicked from shoving them under hoods and fighting with too-tight lug nuts, welted from blow torches and welders, knuckles swollen from fights, always fights. Ugly, in Jason's way of thinking, though he thought Christian's looked good. Looked capable, like a real man's hands, hard working and deft.

Christian was grinding against Jason's hip, breathing hard, making a little noise of displeasure when they're teeth clicked. Too fast, too hard - inexperienced because just this last year or so, they'd decided kissing wasn't for girls, it was for _them_ , and they needed to practice. Needed to get over it, and just fucking do it, because, Jason had admitted, when Christian shoved his tongue into Jason's mouth, fucking in like he did with his fingers, or his cock…. Jason felt that like an electric shock to his balls, so fucking good, surge of heat that never failed to make him gasp.

So Christian loved to do it, sloppy sometimes, over-eager, but Jason didn't care. Christian's spit on his lip, Christian's breath, half-smothering, so fucking intense. Jason clawed at Christian's shirt, yanking it out of his jeans, jerking on the front until the snaps let go, popping open. Shoving it back, half off his shoulders just so Jason could get his hands on Christian's back - sweep his palms over Christian's nipples and the sparse, fine hairs under his navel. There was Indian in him, back a generation, and Christian couldn't really grow a mustache or anything; didn't have a hair on his chest. Jason liked that. Liked how his tongue slid on smooth flesh - how Christian would cuss and jerk, ticklish pleasure.

Christian made a little noise down in his throat, his thigh craning up, rubbing against Jason's cock and balls, rasping the fly of his jeans over them and Jason half-choked, belly tight, so fucking hard so fast, Christ, he always felt like he could just shoot off in five seconds, with Christian.

Had, the first few times, to his utter shame, but Christian was always game, Christian was just as turned on, and he'd just laughed and jerked himself over Jason's wet belly - rubbed them both together until they were ready to go again, hot and horny and sticky on the dock by the lake, endless hours waiting on David….

Jason growled into Christian's mouth, forcing any thought of David out of his. Got his fingers on Christian's belt, the big buckle, and started worrying it open, clumsy and panting. One-handed, because he couldn't stop stroking over the warm, rippling muscles of Christian's back, over the knob of his spine, the dip between, the slats of his ribs, just showing. He'd shot up another inch or so, this summer, and he needed another ten pounds on him to smooth out the edges of his bones, thin-skinned over all the juts and knobs. Jason was pretty sure _he_ was done growing, at just-nineteen, but maybe not. 

Christian's buckle jangled open under Jason's fingers, and Christian shuddered, his hips jerking forward, and Jason yanked at button and zip - dug into the fly of Christian's boxers and curled his fingers around the hot, sweat-damp length of him, jacking him.

"Jay...fuck, Jay-ssson, fuck, ss-slow down -" Christian's hand gripped Jason's wrist, squeezing, and Jason let out a strangled whimper, his own hips jerking, his whole body curling _up_. And then he froze, and Christian did, and Jason looked up at Christian's face, hoping, terrified and turned on.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, fuck no, you...aw, shit," Jason said, twisting, pulling - trying to get _away_ , and Christian automatically held on, pinning him down, locking his fingers around Jason's wrist and leaning into him.

"Jay, Jason, stoppit, Jesus!"

"Just forget it, fuck -"

"C'mon, man, what the hell? Tell me what's goin' on," Christian said, and Jason let his head thump back onto the boards of the picnic table, staring up at the shadowed beams and cobwebs, the tin safety cages over bare, dark bulbs. 

"Ain't nothin', just...I like…."

"Yeah? What? I'm not gonna...what, you like pink panties or something? You like _disco_?" Christian said, mock horror in his voice, and Jason snorted and bucked a little, trying to unseat him, but Christian just leaned in harder, his cock sticking up over the waist of his boxers, flushed dark and warm, wet at the tip.

"Fuck you, disco. Jesus. I'm not a fuckin' pervert," Jason said, grinning. Then lost his grin, and looked at Christian, seeing the gleam of his eyes in the gloom, sharp angle of light and shadow from the midway floods. "Maybe I am, though. Maybe I...you know I'm fucked up, Christian. I mean...you seen…." He'd seen Jason sweat and shake and all but puke from nightmares. Had seen him in his _moods_ , when everything made him pissed off, when he could barely breathe for the rage inside. Christian had seem him destroy a school desk, the kitchen of a ramshackle trailer, numerous junked cars. Christian had seem him cry, only a couple times, but that had sucked beyond all expectation, and Jason almost thought he might right there.

"Ain't seen nothin' special," Christian muttered. He eased up a little, leaning back, and Jason made a noise, reaching for him. "What?"

"I just...I like it when you...grab me like that. Hold me down. I like it when you...don't let go and...just...hold me down."

Christian blinked down at him - looked at Jason's hand, curled against his belly, and his own fingers, wrapped tight around bone and tanned skin. Christian moved his fingers a little, then tightened his grip again, and Jason's breath hitched. "Really? I mean..I don't wanna hurt you, Jay."

"Not hurtin' me," Jason said, and Christian gave him a look. "Hurtin' a little but...it's like...I dunno. It's just good, okay? Like you...don't wanna leave me be. Like you wanna...keep me."

"Okay," Christian said, and then he was silent for a long moment, and Jason felt himself wanting to pull away - to fight him off - to just fucking _run_ and get the fuck out. Christ, he always fucked everything up, he always said the wrong damn thing, did the wrong damn thing - "What if...what if I -" Christian let go, reaching for his belt, pulling at something, and then he was holding his hand out, something dangling down. Jason focused on it and felt his mouth go dry, his heart _pound_ , and his cock, that had flagged a little, throb like second heartbeat. Latigo tie, hanging there from Christian's hand. Leather worn soft and supple from years of use, stained dark along it's length, frayed a little at the ends. Just wide enough, just long enough….

"Christ, oh fuck, Christian -"

"Okay?" Christian said, his voice rasping, and Jason clamped his jaw shut on the flood of stupid, girly words that wanted to come out. He nodded frantically instead, and Christian pushed up - _away_ \- and sat on the edge of the table, one leg tucked under, belt sagging open and his jeans undone, hard bulge of his cock just visible. "What should I...I mean, how do you...what do you want me to do?"

"Fuck, I dunno, whatever...whatever you want," Jason said, breathless, up on his elbows, and Christian made a face at him.

"C'mon, man, you gotta...I dunno what I'm doing, you gotta _tell_ me…." Jason sat up, too - bit his lip, sitting there, so many things rushing through his brain, and all of them, he thought, just too much, too fucking _much_. Christian would think...he would think…. "I just don't want to hurt you, okay? I don't...it's okay, Jay. I don't think...you're not weird, okay? I just...I can't hurt you."

"Okay," Jason said, breathy whisper, and frantically shoved the disordered thoughts away, everything he'd seen in magazines and online, from purest vanilla nothing to most explicit filth. Christian - he didn't want to freak him out. Didn't want to make him hate it, or...him. "Just...put it around my wrists. Tie it around and...and leave enough between so you can...grab it in your hand and just...and hold my arms down, okay? That...is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Christian said. He sat there a moment, and then Jason held his hands out, fingers curled into fists, hands trembling, just a little. Christian stared down at them for a moment, and then he was looping the soft length of leather around Jason's wrists, lapping them once - twice. Twisting the ends of the leather together and then closing his fist around them. He tugged slightly, and looked up at Jason.

"Okay? Not too tight?'

 

"It's…." Jason jerked in an unsteady breath and swallowed. He could barely think, his blood was rushing in his veins so hard and so fast, it was booming in his ears and fuck, he was gonna, he was - "Fuck, I'm gonna...Christian, I - I need to come, _fuck_ -"

"Jesus," Christian whispered, and then he was shoving Jason down, his fist twisted in the leather, tight between Jason's wrists. Pushing them up over Jason's head, pinning them to the table. His hand jerked at the worn button fly of Jason's jeans, yanking them open - hauling them down, clumsy and brutal. Dragging Jason's cock out of his boxers, shoving the stretchy material down under his balls and then doing the same for himself, just - pulling his flesh free of clothing, half kneeling, half lying over Jason. Panting.

Jason arched under him, breathing just as hard, twisting his wrists in the leather, knee falling wide, trying to open up, to lay himself wide, to just let Christian have _anything_ \- "Fuck, you gotta- gotta -"

"I got you, got you, " Christian rasped, and then he was leaning down and in and _on_ , his hand pulling Jason's cock up from his belly, his own cock dragging along Jason's thigh and then pressing them together. Pressing them tight, hand wrapping around, smearing precome and sweat, not really slick enough but fuck, pressure and friction and Jason whined, kicking at the table.

Levering with his booted heel, trying to lift _up_ , to get more leverage, to get a better angle, fuck, something, anything. Balls pulled up tight and his heart racing, hands half-numb and he didn't fucking care. So damn _close_ , his breath coming out in hitching jerks as Christian ground down and rubbed up and humped against him, staring down at him. Christian lifted Jason's bound wrists and thumped them down again, chest to chest, just _crushing_ down, his mouth on Jason's jaw and then on Jason's mouth.

Jason twisted under him, kissing back. Gasping for air and fighting to grab hold, groaning in pure, frenzied _lust_ when Christian twisted his fist and forced Jason's hands down, elbows bending, getting leather and his fingers tangled in Jason's hair, enough to pull.

"Lay still, be good, fuckin' buckin' bronco, aren't you? Prettiest little Mustang in the whole state...I got you, got you -" Christian said, voice thick, into Jason's ear. And Jason arched hard, crying out, coming so hard it hurt. Hips pumping up into Christian's cock and fist and belly and Christian cussed, grinding down. Slick-hot-wet between them, callus catching on the head of Jason's cock, rasp of denim and zipper, Christian's belt-buckle thumping against the wood.

Christian breathing hard into Jason's shoulder and coming, too - jerking them both, clumsy and off-rhythm, gasping; pulling hair and burning skin, leather and bone, and Jason keened and all but thrashed under him, cock still pulsing as Christian's hand slowed. Slowed and stopped and Christian lay there, half on and half off him, mouth a wet circle against Jason's throat, his hand still clutching them both, squeezing and relaxing. 

Bringing them down, but Jason felt like he couldn't come down. Felt so jittery and turned on and frantically _ashamed_.... And so glad, so good. He writhed under Christian's weight and Christian hushed him. Made that little hissing noise he made at his buckskin, _ssshh ssshh ssshh_ between his teeth.

"Settle down, now, settle down...I got you, c'mon, baby," Christian murmured, _just_ like at his fucking horse and Jason felt the brittle tension in him collapse and he snorted out a laugh. Felt himself go limp under Christian, huffing softly, just...letting go.

"Fuck, Christian. _Baby_? I ain't your horse."

"No, you ain't," Christian said. He lifted his head up, looking at Jason, flushed and sweaty and his hair everywhere, long shadows of his lashes and strands of his hair across his nose, and cheek. "And she ain't, neither. But you are _mine_ , aren't you, Jason? I mean...we're each others…?"

Jason breathed, long and slow. In - out - in again. While Christian watched him, biting his lip. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. We are. Always gonna be, Christian. No matter - no matter what. You...don't think I'm a freak?"

"Nah." Christian let them both go, with a little, twisting stroke that made him shudder and Jason moan, arching up. He wiped his palm on his thigh, smearing come off his fingers, and then slowly eased up his hold on Jason's wrists. "You okay?" He sat up slowly, making a face down at the mess of them, bellies wet and jeans smeared, a fucking mess.

Jason sat up, too, burn in his arms and he lowered them, his shoulderblades feeling bruised. It didn't bother him. He held his wrists out to the light and they could both see the marks, not too dark, from the leather. 

"Huh," Jason said, and Christian cussed and carefully unwound it, freeing him. 

"Shit. That's gonna bruise."

"Had worse," Jason said, shrugging, and Christian looked up at him fast, frowning.

"What do you mean? Did somebody - did your _dad_ -?"

"Fuck that, fuck no, Jesus. Just...you know. That fucker Brendon, you know, the twin's dad...he's had fun putting the handcuffs on a few times to tight. Tryin' to show off, catching big, bad Behr sellin' fuckin' ditch-weed." Jason snorted and Christian made an unhappy noise. But it was true; the deputy was a fucking asshole, and he'd cuff you soon's look at you. Liked to swing his baton around, too, and Jason had been on the bad end of that a time or four.

"He's such an asshole," Christian said, and he put his fingers lightly on Jason's wrists, rubbing. "So long's you're okay, Jason."

"Yeah, I'm good," Jason said. Just letting Christian touch him like that for a moment, careful-tender, gentle. Christ, he was going to go crazy. He _was_ crazy. "Damn, I...fuck, I need a drink," Jason said, and Christian laughed softly. 

"Me, too. So it was - okay?"

"Jesus. Yeah, it was okay. Got off, didn't I?"

"Yeah. Just - wanted to make sure."

"You got off, too," Jason said, feeling defensive even though Christian wasn't doing a damn thing to _make_ him defensive.

"Yeah, so? Fuck, Jay - I always get off with you. Jesus, you know that."

"Yeah, well, you're not so fuckin'...normal if - if that - if you -"

"Jason -" Christian said, and he reached out and pulled Jason in, hugging him hard, hands and the latigo tangling up in Jason's hair, and Jason held himself stiff and hard for a long moment, just shivering. And then he sagged into Christian's hug - hugged him back, fiercely. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, fuck -"

"S'okay, it's okay. I got off, too, we can both be...be fuckin' perverts together, okay? Who cares," Christian said, and Jason laughed, shaky, and pulled back enough to kiss Christian messily, crookedly, mostly on his mouth.

"Stupid shit. C'mon and get me a beer, okay? And I'll come camp out with you tonight. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Anything for you… _baby_."

"You're such a fucking girl, Kane, Jesus."

"You fucking love it," Christian said, pushing at him, and Jason pushed back, and they wrestled for a moment. Rolled off the table and scuffled in the dust and got their clothing together. Heading back toward the trailer and the sleeping horses, the cooling air puffing softly at their backs, the last of the lights going off, one after the other, until only the frail light of the moon lit their way, low and silver on the horizon. 

Christian had sliced up a cut of cheap steak, and peppers, onions and salsa in foil pouches, and tortillas and stuff in a bag, and they sat on the grass around his camp stove, putting together makeshift fajitas and drinking the Cokes he'd stuck in his cooler.

Laughing, and smoking, and wiping greasy fingers on their shirts. Bedding down on the ground on the spread-open sleeping bag, horse-blankets thrown over them, passing a joint back and forth as they lay on their backs and stared up at the stars. At a million, billion little points of light, all of them raging infernos, all of them so very, very far.

In the morning, Christian waved goodbye out the truck window, easing the trailer over hummocks of grass, and Jason walked to where he'd stashed his bike, back behind the grandstand, chained to a pole. He straddled the worn leather of the saddle and got his goggles on - started it up, bracing himself for the back-kick and then letting it idle. He pulled the latigo out of his pocket and doubled it in his fingers - lifted it to his nose and inhaled. Later - saddlebags packed and his money in his boot, his whole life about to slide away behind him - he punched a hole in both ends and wrapped the tie around and around his wrist. Threaded a bit of army-green cord through the holes and tied it. The lapped loops of dark, worn leather hugged his wrist, and Jason stared at it for a moment before revving the engine and leaning in - kicking his bike forward and just….

Going.


End file.
